Rory Reublin in front of the Lighthouse Mission in Bellingham where John Allen Muhammad and John Lee Malvo lived for about six months in 2001 and part of 2002. Reublin has been resident manager since 1996.

Rory Reublin in front of the Lighthouse Mission in Bellingham where John Allen Muhammad and John Lee Malvo lived for about six months in 2001 and part of 2002. Reublin has been resident manager since 1996.

The two took different paths across the country that crossed again yesterday when Montgomery County police Chief Charles Moose, a former Air Guard major, identified Muhammad, a former Army guard sergeant, as the suspect in the deaths of 10 people in the Washington, D.C., area.

That shred of irony surfaced in military records and court documents concerning Muhammad that were obtained by the Seattle Post-Intelligencer. The papers chronicle a checkerboard existence of a contradictory man, a father of four known for his firm handshake and quick temper, a decorated Gulf War veteran who once slugged another Army sergeant, and who tried and failed to start his own auto repair business and a karate studio before sliding into homelessness.

Relatives describe the man they first knew as John A. Williams, born 41 years ago in Baton Rouge, La., as having a normal childhood -- even marrying his childhood sweetheart.

Others recall a man who loved guns, marveling just four months ago to a friend about how much damage an assault rifle could do with a silencer, and who once slugged an Army sergeant and was accused by an ex-wife of abuse, custodial abduction and domestic violence.

"He was a demolitions expert in the military," the ex-wife wrote in court papers filed two years ago. "He is behaving very irrational. Whenever he does talk with me he always says that he is going to destroy my life and I hang up the phone."

Neighbors who knew him as a civilian in a north Tacoma neighborhood in recent years have mixed recollections. Some call him reclusive and unfriendly, others say he was polite and shy.

Most, however, say the man they now know as a suspect in a notorious crime spree is not the man they knew.

"This guy has changed," said Felix Strozier, who started a now-defunct karate school with Muhammad in 1997. "He's troubled. The John Muhammad I knew is not the John Muhammad who was arrested."

But then Strozier hesitated, adding, "The more I think about it, you know, it seems like I can remember him being bitter, just bitter about life."

For most of his life, the man who converted to Islam in 1985 and legally changed his name to Muhammad 18 months ago in Tacoma, was known as a soldier.

Military records say Muhammad scored well in annual Army rifle qualifications but never came close to being a sniper. He was a sheet metal worker and water-truck driver in Army and National Guard combat engineering battalions.

Muhammad first donned a uniform fresh out of Scotlandville High School. Four months shy of his 18th birthday, he enlisted in the Louisiana Guard in August 1978. In 1981, he married his high school sweetheart, Carol Kaglear. The couple had a son, Travis.

In the Louisiana Guard, Muhammad drilled with Company B of the 769th Engineer Battalion until his honorable discharge in July 1985.

In 1983, however, he was charged with striking a non-commissioned officer, stealing a tape measure and being absent without leave. The court fined him $100, sentenced him to seven days confinement and busted him to a Specialist 4.

"I remember John Williams," said Timothy Toler, a high school band teacher in Louisiana who, as a Guard major signed Williams' court-martial papers.

Muhammad's detachment commander at the time, Rafael Miranda, called him "a very friendly guy. A good person. He had a million-dollar smile."

"He was a leader," Miranda said. "He was, like, 6-foot-2, in shape. And he would always do his job. . . . whatever you asked him to do."

Miranda, however, also saw "some anger things going on."

"But everyone liked him, so the least they could do was fine him and transfer him to the HQ unit."

Muhammad joined the Army in 1985 after leaving the Guard. The same year, he and his wife separated and he converted to Islam. In 1988, he and his wife divorced. A few months later, he married Mildred Denise Green, who embraced Islam with him, her neighbors recalling her veils and robes. The couple later had three children.

Muhammad remained a combat engineer, part of a group trained to perform construction under fire. They also can be trained in demolition, laying down and finding mines, and dismantling booby traps.

Muhammad's first tour was with the 15th Engineer Battalion at Fort Lewis in 1985. In 1991, he served in the Gulf War with a company that dismantled Iraqi chemical warfare rockets. In 1992, he was at Fort Ord, Calif., with the 13th Engineers, and in 1993 back at Fort Lewis with the 14th Engineer Battalion.

He was honorably discharged on April 25, 1994, then spent one more year in uniform in the Oregon Guard, driving between Tacoma and Portland. Court records show he received several traffic tickets that year.

"I don't think the guy ever had his hand slapped or ever got a ribbon," Maj. Arnold Strong, spokesman for the Oregon Military Department, said yesterday. "His record with us is clean. I can't even find anybody who knew the guy."

Muhammad was still an E-5, a buck sergeant, when he was discharged. In addition to his Gulf War ribbons, his decorations included a sharpshooter badge for qualifying with the M-16, a basic achievement.

The M-16 fires the same .223-caliber round and looks much like the Bushmaster XM15 rifle found in Muhammad's car when he was arrested Thursday.

Muhammad was a good shot, but he never qualified as a sniper, and nothing in his record shows he ever applied to be one.

In civilian life, the Muhammads lived at South Ainsworth Street in Tacoma for about seven years.

Brenda Guyer, who lived across the street and likely spent more time with the family than other residents in the quiet Wapato Estates subdivision, now realizes she never really knew Muhammad.

"He seemed to be quite in charge of the family," she said, and always insisted his children call adults 'Mister' or 'Sir.'

"He was the head of the household. He was a black man taking charge of his family. He was . . . very much into being in charge."

"It's just weird to think now how little I knew of him and how much I assumed because he was a neighbor."

A deft mechanic, Muhammad in 1995 started a business out of his house, Express Car/Truck Mechanic Services Inc.

He also met Strozier, who taught karate at a community center where Muhammad took his son, John Williams Jr., known as "little John." He was already using the name Muhammad and was involved in the Muslim community.

"All his friends were Muslim," Strozier said. "He was quiet, a thinker. He seemed like he always had something on his mind."

In 1997, Muhammad and Strozier opened a karate studio. Muhammad inquired once about training members of his mosque in martial arts, but it never happened. Strozier later discovered Muhammad and friends from the Muslim community using the studio at 5 a.m. "to train."

That summer, Strozier also met and trained John Lee Malvo in karate, introduced to him as Muhammad's stepson.

"He was a strict disciplinarian with his kids," Strozier said, repeating something John would always say: "You teach your kids at home, and they won't embarrass you when you take them out."

The studio closed in 1998 and Strozier and Muhammad -- at odds over money Strozier said he was owed -- didn't talk much afterward.

In December 1999, Mildred Muhammad filed divorce papers that begin to chronicle the collapse of their marriage, and his ex-wife's fear that Muhammad would follow through on threats to destroy her life.

John accused Mildred of an affair. She accused him of domestic violence. The couple's children became pawns in custody disputes.

John Mills, a lawyer who represented Muhammad in his last divorce, recalls Muhammad was living with friends most of the time he represented him.

In March 2000, a domestic violence restraining order was entered against Muhammad. He was investigated for custodial interference for taking the couple's three children without his wife's permission to Antigua.

In August 2001, Muhammad was investigated when the children were taken from Tacoma to live with Muhammad in a Bellingham shelter, the Light House Mission. Muhammad and Malvo, the son of a woman he was seeing, Uma Malvo, also lived there last year.

Randy Reublin, 52, the resident manager of the Light House Mission in downtown Bellingham, said he was friendly with both men. Reublin said the pair often were in deep conversation. They never broke the center's rules. The never made any waves. While making clear they were not Christian they never objected to the center's Christian services.

"They were very respectful," he said.

The pair slept on mattresses on the floor of the cafeteria, avoiding a bunkbed dorm room used by many of the residents. On occasion, after Malvo had gone to bed, Muhammad would walk into the TV room and chat with Reublin and others.

"He was a real nice guy. Very polite. Bright," Reublin said. Muhammad didn't talk about his time in the armed forces. But it was clear when the subject turned toward the military that Muhammad knew what he was talking about.

"I'm a veteran," Reublin said. "And so are some of the other guys. You can tell when someone fakes it. He never said he was in the military but it was clear he had been. You could tell he wasn't a phony."

As polite and self-contained as Muhammad was, he still struck Reublin as odd. In the chaotic environment of a homeless shelter, he dressed well, was clean cut and every now and then showed up in nice clothes. Like the new bright yellow Columbia parka he wore in the center one day while Reublin worked at the desk.

"I said nice jacket. He whipped it off and said, 'Here, have it.' "

Then there were the mysterious trips when Muhammad would pack up all of his belongings and disappear for a couple of weeks. "He didn't have a penny to his name but he could jump on a plane for Jamaica any time he wanted."

He refused work when offered it at the center, saying he had other work going on. He didn't say what it was.

"At the time I thought in the back of my head that this guy was up to something."